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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132536">Written You Down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChimaeraKitten/pseuds/Chimaera-Writes'>Chimaera-Writes (ChimaeraKitten)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Gen, I do not know how to tag this - Freeform, I wrote this for some friends of mine, No editing we die like mne, Post-Post-Apocalypse, This is a weird one folks, Title From a Bastille Song, because I'm basic, implied nuclear war, who were both working on PJO stuff at the same time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:40:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChimaeraKitten/pseuds/Chimaera-Writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The voice cut through the night, startling the children badly. The oldest jumped to her feet, reaching inside her cloak and grasping a knife, while the younger two scrambled. Just outside of the firelight’s reach stood a shadowy figure visible only by the outline of stars it blocked. It had appeared as if out of nothingness, and the eldest child was certain that they should have seen or heard it before it was that close, even with their distraction.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Written You Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashofalltrades/gifts">trashofalltrades</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/gifts">jerseydevious</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The three children sat around the campfire, huddled together, dangerously close to the flames. The nights were so cold, now. All about them barren plains stretched, only ever occasionally interrupted by a clump of stunted grass or a dead tree.</p><p>The oldest (though only by five months) of the children extracted herself from the huddle and threw another handful of sticks onto the fire. She shivered, tucking her worn cloak around her even tighter, but did not return to her companions. Instead she looked up.</p><p>“The stars are so beautiful tonight,” she said.</p><p>“No moon, and there’s no light pollution this far out,” the youngest, and the only boy, in their group said.</p><p>The third child nodded sharply once, and said nothing.</p><p>“Look,” the oldest added. “You can see Orion, and Ursa Major. And I think that gray band is the milky way.”</p><p>“You could tell us the story of one of them,” The boy said, casting a concerned look at the still-silent child seated next to him. “To keep us awake.”</p><p>The oldest nodded in acknowledgement and sat down. They would all freeze to death, if they slept and the fire burned out before sunrise. She began, “Orion was a hunter—”</p><p>“Hey, Travellers!”</p><p>The voice cut through the night, startling the children badly. The oldest jumped to her feet, reaching inside her cloak and grasping a knife, while the younger two scrambled. Just outside of the firelight’s reach stood a shadowy figure visible only by the outline of stars it blocked. It had appeared as if out of nothingness, and the eldest child was certain that they should have seen or heard it before it was that close, even with their distraction. The space around them was too barren for anything else.</p><p>The figure stepped closer to the fire and resolved into a man slowly removing a hood from his head. He wasn’t especially old, but he wasn’t particularly young, either. He had dark hair and bright eyes, and he held himself with confidence, despite the cold which had the children hunched over.</p><p>“I come in peace,” he said with an easy smile, looking at the oldest. Her knife gleamed in the flickering light, but he wasn't watching it. “Just wanted to ask if I could warm up with you guys.”</p><p>Made wary by tricks and other strangers in the night, the younger two children looked at the eldest. “Go ahead,” she said, but did not put away her knife.</p><p>Unconcerned, the man sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the fire from the children. He reached into his cloak, and the three tensed, but all he withdrew was a bag, which revealed a loaf of bread and a few wrapped bars when he opened it. The labels were unreadable in the low light.</p><p>He tore the end off the loaf and then tossed the rest across the fire. The oldest girl caught it easily, then looked at it like she’d never seen anything like it before.</p><p>“Thank you for the hospitality,” he said by way of an explanation.</p><p>She watched him take a bite of the piece he’d kept before she tore the remainder down the center and handed half to each of the other children, neither of whom protested her keeping none for herself. It wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of this stranger.</p><p>“Who are you?” She challenged. “Nobody wanders in the wilderness at night alone. You don’t even have a light.”</p><p>He looked amused by that. “Sometimes not being seen is worth reduced vision,” he said, “and if people don’t wander the wilderness alone, what are you doing here?”</p><p>She looked at the other two. This guy was almost certainly too suspicious to be normal, but they couldn’t just <em> assume </em> he was a monster. “We have to get something,” she said.</p><p>“They sent <em> children </em> to ‘get something’?”</p><p>She shifted, uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to retort, but the silent child beat her to it.</p><p>“We had to.”</p><p>Everyone watched her to see if more information would be forthcoming, but she said nothing more.</p><p>“Can't argue with that,” the stranger said, “what were you doing before I got here? Telling stories?”</p><p>The eldest’s mouth twisted. “Yes,” she bit out.</p><p>“Great!” he said, so brightly it was almost startling, “I know a lot of stories. Go on, sit down, I’ll tell you one.”</p><p>She hesitated.</p><p>“I’ll swear on anything you’ll ask of me, I mean you no harm.”</p><p>She sat, pressing against her companions and relaxing into the meager heat. She did not put the knife away.</p><p>“Once, a very long time ago, there was a forest here.”</p><p>“My teacher says there hasn't been a forest here since the Winter,” the boy cut in.</p><p>“I did say a very long time ago,” the man accused mildly, “anyway, There were three kids in the forest, a lot like you three, actually, and they were on a journey to ‘get something’ too. A lightning bolt.”</p><p>“I know this story,” the boy said. “We all know this story. You’re telling us the myth of Perseus?” He said it incredulously, as if he couldn't believe anyone would tell a story they were all familiar with.</p><p>“Hey, you wanted her to tell you Orion earlier! I’m going with the theme. And you haven't heard it the way I tell it.”</p><p>The kids looked at each other, as if they couldn’t imagine that the way he told it would be any good.</p><p>“<em>Anyway </em>, the kids weren't doing very well, since they’d lost their transportation and their stuff, and they were pretty hungry.”</p><p>“You're not a very good storyteller.”</p><p>The stranger threw his hands up. “I didn't say I was! All I said is I <em> knew </em> a lot of stories.”</p><p>“<em>Everyone </em> knows that story. That's not impressive.”</p><p>“Fine, okay, I’ll tell you another story. The <em> other </em> Perseus myth.”</p><p>“There’s like, fifteen myths about him.”</p><p>The stranger shook his head. “Not that one. See the guy you’re thinking of, he was actually named after another guy. More than two and a half thousand years before.”</p><p>“Really?” Asked the boy. “That would be...” The boy seemed to be trying to add the numbers up in his head. A long, long time before. Before the Winter, and before the age before that.</p><p>“So long ago that story is all but forgotten. But <em> I </em> know it, and this might be your only chance to hear it, so quit interrupting.”</p><p>The boy quieted, but with his quietness came fidgeting. This didn’t seem to bother the stranger, who launched into the story. “This myth begins a lot like the ones you know, with a prophecy that powerful people wanted very much to avert…”</p><p>The stranger told stories by firelight until the exhausted eldest child’s drooping eyes closed, and her knife slipped from her fingers. It hit the ground with a soft thump, and the youngest startled and opened his mouth to wake her.</p><p>“No, let her sleep,” interjected the stranger. He reached for their meager woodpile and added another branch to the fire. “You can wake her when the two of you are ready to sleep. Where was I? Right, the sea monster.” He continued the story in softer tones, careful of waking the girl, and after a few minutes (and despite a valiant effort) the boy, too, was asleep.</p><p>As his soft breathing slowed, the middle child and the stranger sized each other up.</p><p>“You’re not a demigod,” the stranger said at last.</p><p>“No,” she agreed, “but I can see.”</p><p>“And they sent you on a quest?” His voice made it clear he disliked the idea.</p><p>“There was no one else.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence for a few moments, while the stranger built up the fire. Though the wood he added was more than the pile they’d begun with, neither mentioned to it.</p><p>“How are you here?” the girl asked at last, “the stories are very clear that you said no.”</p><p>“When the old gods died, it wasn’t because of the Winter. Well, I guess it was, but indirectly? They died because people forgot them, forgot their stories. The ones who survived—” he paused and nodded at the other two children “—their parents managed to stay alive because people remembered them. They were needed in some ways. Revenge, Luck, Choices. Greater gods died when the sun was blotted out and the harvests failed and the air turned to poison. Even Death didn’t matter a thing when the dead left no one behind to mourn. And me, well, there is more than one way to make a god.”</p><p>“We didn’t forget you,” She said, understanding, “we forgot all the great and powerful gods, but we didn’t forget you.”</p><p>“Even when the stars were gone, you needed my stories. You needed them more than ever, when all of you were children alone and scared.”</p><p>They were quiet then, for a while.</p><p>“You can sleep now. I won’t let your fire go out.”</p><p>She nodded, and the nodd turned into a slump as her weight sagged into the already-sleeping girl next to her.</p><p>When the children woke in the morning, the fire was low but not burnt out, and the stranger was gone. Where he had been sitting, his rich, heavy cloak was folded, and on top of it were three wrapped bars and a very old pen.</p><p>“Candy bars,” the boy said, examining them. “I’ve never seen this kind before, but they look safe enough.” He protted one with a stick, as if afraid it would jump up and bite him.</p><p>The eldest girl picked up the pen, casting glances at the younger girl, who seemed unconcerned.</p><p>“Right then,” said the oldest, “let’s move on.” She tucked the pen in with her knife while the boy scooped up the candy bars. By mutual silent agreement, they wrapped the cloak around the younger girl. No one mentioned how it fit unnaturally well. The stranger had been quite a bit taller than all of them.</p><p>The girl twisted her pale fingers into the thick fabric as they set off across the barren plain.</p><p>When they opened the candy bars for lunch later that day, the chocolate inside would be bright blue.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"I have written you down now<br/>You will live forever<br/>And all the world will read you<br/>You will live forever<br/>In eyes not yet created<br/>On tongues that are not born"<br/>—Bastille, "Poet"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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